


Halcyon

by LetmeliveTM



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Fluff, John is a good father, M/M, Nightmares, Parentlock, Rosie is lucky lmao, Sherlock is a Good Father, Sherlock isn't good with feelings, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, because of course he can, minor gore, sherlock can sing, they're both good parents, very little though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26285131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetmeliveTM/pseuds/LetmeliveTM
Summary: HalcyonHal.cy.onadj.Peace, tranquility and happiness
Relationships: Johnlock, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 66





	Halcyon

The sound of guns and grenades being set off rumbled in the distance, a mixture of sand and dry dirt getting kicked up under heavy boots and forming a hazy cloud around them. John clung to the stretcher, the coarse fabric rubbing his palm raw as he ran beside his fellow doctors and soldiers to a safer area. Searching for a small moment of respite to aid a wounded companion.

His vision was tunneled and his mind was reduced to the years of medical training that had been drilled into him by weary professors and glossy textbooks. It was hard to focus on anything else. The dust flying into his eyes and making them water, his hair stuck to his forehead and the uncomfortable heat.

Finding a space clear of dangerous machinery and far from the crossfire of angry bullets, they lay the stretcher down while someone ran to get more supplies as John opened his first aid kit. He hoped to give a little treatment to slow the rate of the soldier dying before he could fully tend to their wounds.  
When he properly looked down at them, however, his heart stopped and the colour flooded from his face.  
Black curls, tangled and matted with sticky, red blood, plastering it to a pale forehead. Sharp cheekbones and misty blue eyes that were quickly draining of all life, blinking blearily up at the burning sky.

"Sherlock?"

John woke with a start, jerking and inhaling sharply.  
His mouth was uncomfortably dry and there was a draft coming from some unknown source, forcing him further into wakefulness and further from the nightmare.

With a resigned sigh, he rolled out of bed, roughly rubbing his eyes and shaking off the quivering aftershocks of a mixed up dream. A quick glance at the little digital clock on his bedside table told him that it was almost 3am and he groaned quietly, suddenly aware that he had work later that morning and waking up at such an ungodly hour would do him no favours at the Surgery.

Deciding he might as well remedy the dryness of his mouth with some water, John stood and made his way out of the room and down the stairs, avoiding the second one that was known for squeaking loudly when even Rosie stood on it. John paused halfway down at the thought of his daughter, debating heading back up to check on her before choosing not to, least he lose whatever ability to sleep he had left.

It was then that he became aware of a soft humming floating from the dimly lit living room. It was deep and soothing, in a baritone John knew all too well, but never in this context.

He couldn't recall Sherlock ever singing or even humming in the years he'd known him, mostly keeping just to his violin playing and composing whenever he needed to think or alleviate boredom if there was a lull in cases. Hearing it now was a pleasant surprise, as Sherlock hummed to a familiar tune that John couldn't quite place in his sleep addled brain.

He quietly tiptoed to stand beside the door, hiding in a blind spot of shadows and peaking through the crack in the door. Sherlock was out of sight, however, his shadow, cast by the little lamp by the sofa, danced across the wall as he swayed through the room.

Shifting slightly to get more comfortable, John leaned closer to hear the sweet lullaby more clearly when Sherlock gently twirled into view. He was cradling Rosie in his arms, a sleepy smile on her face as she fought a loosing battle against exhaustion, clinging to the blue silk of her godfather's dressing gown. Sherlock himself looked as tired as John felt, his usually styled and neat curls gone slightly fuzzy where he'd ruffled them too much that day and his eyes were ringed with dark circles from the late hour. Otherwise, he was smiling as he hummed, rocking Rosie to sleep despite her attempts to remain awake and listen to his song.

Sherlock paused when he neared the pair of armchairs by the fireplace, feeling the familiar prickle of someone's gaze on his back as he stumbled imperceptibly and struggled to keep to the tune of La Vie En Rose. He knew it was John listening, and he half wanted to call out to him if nothing but to rid himself of the uncomfortable tingling on his back, but he didn't. Instead, he continued to hum, resuming his calm steps about the room and adjusting Rosie in his arms. She was almost asleep now, her breathing becoming more even as her eyes slowly closed and she rested her head against Sherlock's chest. She smiled slightly as she began drifting off and Sherlock found his own smile growing when he came to a stop by one of the large windows that looked out onto the street. 

It was empty and dark, all the lights from the few shops and other flats were off, leaving only one street lamp to light a small patch of the road.  
It was quiet and soothing, it lulled Sherlock into his mind as his humming trailed to a gentle stop. Casting his eyes upwards, he watched the stars glitter and wink down at him from the endless, black sky.   
Clear nights like this became more rare in the lead up to winter, which was why Sherlock savoured the brightness in the patterned darkness. 

Sherlock jumped when he felt someone come up behind him and rest their chin on his shoulder.  
"It's okay, it's just me" John said, raising a hand to gently squeeze Sherlock's upper arm as he looked down at his daughter.

Sherlock swallowed hard, staring blankly at the smudges decorating the window as he tried to process the warmth of John's body so close and the hand that still held his arm.  
Rosie stirred in his hold and his impromptu daze was broken, his attention instinctively shifting to the sleeping three year old.

A humming sounded at his ear, low and soothing and, turning his head slightly, Sherlock watched John from his peripheral as the doctor smiled softly and continued to hum. It wasn't perfect by any means, he was out of tune and wavered at certain notes that strained his voice, but he continued anyway and Sherlock closed his eyes, focusing in on the lilting song. After a while, John rested both hands on Sherlock's shoulders, holding them firmly but not too tight as he carefully coaxed the detective back into his previous, slow swaying, tilting along with him.

They stayed that way for a time, swaying and humming quietly to the little girl ensconced in Sherlock's arms until, reluctantly, John moved to stand in front of his friend, his hand lingering between his shoulder blades. He carefully took Rosie from Sherlock, mindful not to wake her, before smiling softly up at him. He didn't return it at first, staring in wide eyed confusion at the doctor, before the corner of his mouth twitched slightly and the tension around his eyes relaxed as he finally smiled fully. 

With a small nod, John quickly padded off to the stairs, holding his daughter close to his chest as he tried to be both quick and careful whilst climbing the rickety staircase.

Sherlock looked after him, wincing at the loud screech of the second step, hoping his work to get Rosie back to sleep wasn't for nothing. His eyes strayed to the kitchen, debating making a cup of tea to settle himself down, his heart was still racing from John's close proximity and the ghost of his warmth was drifting away like steam. 

Deciding it would be a good idea, Sherlock shuffled into the kitchen, grimacing when he crossed the threshold onto cold tiles, towards the kettle. Losing himself in the practiced motions of making tea, Sherlock didn't notice John slipping into the kitchen and dropping onto one of the chairs at the table.

He startled for a second time that night, almost dropping his teaspoon as he did so, when John spoke, "Thank you for taking care of Rosie, it was good of you"  
Sherlock paused, his hand hovering where it held a sugar cube over the rim of his mug, thinking over all the possible answers and chewing his bottom lip. Of all the different responses that fluttered through his mind, Sherlock chose to hum dismissively and drop the sugar cube into the tea.

John tilted his head, studying the tense lines of Sherlock's back, the silence broken only by the quiet tinkle of the teaspoon bumping against ceramic mug as the detective stirred his beverage.

"I'm serious" John reiterated after letting the silence drag on a bit longer.  
Sherlock's wayward curls bobbed as he nodded, still not facing John as he cupped his mug and the warmth seep into his chilled palms,   
"I don't doubt it" he said, assuming a simple, wordless assent wouldn't satisfy his friend.

John sighed in that way that made Sherlock's skin prick with anxiety. 

He'd done something wrong.

"I'm too tired for this. Try not to sleep too late, yeah?" John said, rising from his seat and coming to stand beside Sherlock, who finally turned to look at him with furrowed brows.

"Okay…" Sherlock mumbled, casting his eyes downward to a pale brown stain on the otherwise white tiles, left over by one of the few experiments that went awry.

John huffed a small laugh through his nose before leaning up to press a featherlight kiss to one sharp cheekbone, "Goodnight, Sherlock" he whispered, rocking back onto his heels and feeling the corner of his mouth kick up in a smirk at the sight of astonished blue eyes and a partially opened mouth.

He left Sherlock to reboot, grinning like a madman, and took the stairs two at a time. If he flopped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling with a clearly besotted look on his face for the next 20 minutes, he wouldn't tell a soul.

Meanwhile Sherlock's tea went cold and the man himself raised a slightly quivering hand to brush his fingers over the spot where John kissed him.  
"Oh…" was all he said.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the cavities   
> Felt like writing some gratuitous domestic fluff between our boys because they deserve it.   
> Comments are very much appreciated 
> 
> Lotta Love ~G ❤️


End file.
